After Arizona was admitted to the Union in 1912, one of its first two senators, Henry Fountain Ashurst, arose on the Senate floor to sing the praises of this newest star on the flag. An hour of passionate oratory ended with a challenging forecast.

“All this young state needs is water and a lot of good people,” Ashurst asserted. A weary Senate colleague is said to have muttered, “That's all they need in hell!”

In less than a century, Arizona became our fastest-growing state, renowned for such wonders as the Grand Canyon, urban air conditioning and the late Barry Goldwater. It built a conservative populace willing to take chances. Thus it happens that come November, Arizonans will be voting on making a gigantic lottery of future statewide elections.

Through the years, these are a people who have seen many a quick fortune made in cattle, copper, land speculation and even in the late lamented savings and loan scandal. They now would add the simple voting franchise to that rich history of overnight riches. In every primary or general election from here on, some lucky voter – Republican, Democrat or floating independent – would find himself wondering what to do with a cool million.

As with most such proposals, this one claims a noble purpose. It is to arouse new interest in a civic function that regularly finds up to half of us sitting on our hands.

Supporters of the lottery idea make a fairly compelling case. It goes like this: So you're disgusted with politics? You think you'll probably stay home on Election Day? Well, just take the 20 minutes needed to cast a ballot, or mail in an absentee – and you could be rich for life.

Such is Arizona's happy prospect. If 185,000 petition-signers in that cactus-strewn outpost have their way, every future primary and general election will also become a million-dollar lottery with a single winner – maybe you. The new gold rush depends on what voters decide in November. While the rest of the U.S. electorate mulls the dismal task of separating certain rascals from public office, Arizona's happy breed will be pondering what to do with all that lottery loot.

The ground-breaking proposal was conceived by a retired eye doctor, Mark Osterloh of Tucson. A political gadfly by his own admission, Osterloh ran four times for the state Legislature, once even for governor.

Although unsuccessful in promoting his own candidacy, the guy has shown he knows how to push an idea. He led a ballot fight 10 years ago expanding statewide health care. In 1998 he championed the Clean Elections Initiative for public funding of political campaigns. And in 2000 he was active in a move stripping the Legislature of its power for gerrymandering voting districts to its own advantage.

In this new cause – the Voter Reward Act, which qualified for the ballot just last month – Osterloh probably sees his crown jewel. It would tap the Arizona Lottery to underwrite a million-dollar single-winner drawing from among voters taking part in every future election.

No other state either rewards its citizens for voting or penalizes nonvoting. The only government I can find that involves itself either way is Australia, which fines a physically able citizen $15 for missing an election. (Understandably, the turnout Down Under has soared to around 95 percent.)

The argument against either the carrot or stick approach is essentially the same – that folks uninterested in public affairs are probably insufficiently informed to mark a ballot intelligently, so let 'em go. Dunderheads, some call them.

Well, I don't know about that. As one who has courted every breathing soul within a congressional district, the stay-at-homes always disgusted me. And it's true, I never assumed there was a scheduling conflict with the Tuesday meeting of their local Mensa chapter. But I never could believe that so large a segment of the populace is too dumb to vote. And if the prospect of a fast million arouses their patriotic impulses – well, that seems nobler than making government their truant officer, as the Aussies have done.

Dr. Osterloh can put me down as leaning favorable.

Van Deerlin represented a San Diego County district in Congress for 18 years.